


Place your hand in mine

by maugrim



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, Gen, M/M, Minor Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26801524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maugrim/pseuds/maugrim
Summary: Geralt knows he fucked up on the mountain. Now he just has to fix things with Jaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23
Collections: Sordid Saovine - The Witcher Halloween Event





	Place your hand in mine

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks a lot to @SpiralsInTime who helped me with brainstorming and working out ideas. Without you, this fic might not exist.

Geralt was the last to return from the mountain. Yen had teleported away and the rest of the teams had had a few hours of a head start before Geralt had finally gotten up from his rock that was overlooking the valley below. It had given him some time to cool off his head. 

Roach was the only horse left on the clearing. In hindsight, he really had to be glad that she was still waiting there and hadn’t been stolen in the meantime. He wasn’t so sure about the contents in his saddlebags tho. Granted, a lot of its contents had been Jaskier‘s.  
Jaskier had had his change of clothes and the bare essentials of soaps and perfumes in a separate compartment of his lute case before it slowly had transferred between Geralt‘s things over the years.

Jaskier...  
He hadn’t been fair of him, lashing out like that. He had to fix this, somehow. Geralt would just take Roach, track him down and apologize, while the tracks were still fresh. How hard could it be to find a bard?

There was someone waiting next to Roach, clad in a blood red doublet and with his back turned to Geralt. Long fingers were scratching his horse’s head.

“Jaskier”, Geralt Said softly. Relief washed over him, his chest was feeling a bit lighter at the sight. Not he would admit it out loud but Jaskier was still here, that‘s all that mattered.

The man turned. The blue eyes were bright with fury and a startling contrast against the red. His whole body was tense like a string.  
“Geralt”, Jaskier’s voice was cool, but there was anger in his undertone.  
“Jask, I-.”  
With three big strides Jaskier was in front of him, his face very close to Geralt’s and Geralt was reminded once again of these two inches that the bard was taller than him.  
“If you have anything more to add, I’m not going to stand for it. You don’t get to blame your mistakes on me. The child of surprise? That’s on you, Geralt! I didn’t force you to take the payment in form of the law of surprise! And the djinn was just the result of your action, which I already paid for, if you might remember with all the choking and the blood spitting and Yennefer of damned Vengerburg?”

Geralt silently met his gaze. He deserved this anger. A survival instinct at the back of his head also supplied that he shouldn’t underestimate Jaskier. He had seen enough bar fights initiated by the bard to know that it was better not to provoke him further. He might be just human and Geralt could - theoretically - take him out easily but he also knew that Jaskier was skilled with the dagger he stored in his boot.  
There was also something about the sight of this angry, fearless man - and a stupid one, considering he was challenging a witcher - that Geralt admired about him. Maybe because this wasn’t about him being a witcher per se but something far more personal. And he knew that he did wrong.

“Jaskier, I know...It wasn’t fair. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.“  
Silence.  
Jaskier studied his face. The sharp, hot huff of air hit Geralt in the face, as he exhaled sharply. His temper seemed to cool down a little. “Alright, alright“, he repeated.

Jaskier took a step back. “Off to Cintra then?“  
„Hm.“  
“There’s no need to waste any time, it’s a long walk.”  
Geralt patted Roach’s neck in greeting before putting his saddlebags and swords back on and re-adjusted the girth of the saddle. Jaskier was watching him getting Roach ready. 

Maybe he should buy Jaskier a horse at the next opportunity. In the past they have had a conversation over this multiple times with the outcome that it was mostly lack of money. Jaskier had always declined with the excuse that all the walking was giving him a good amount of exercise and endurance that didn’t only keep him fit but was also appreciated by his lovers. Geralt could agree that the walking definitely showed in the man’s thighs by now based on the times he had gotten a glimpse of them over the years. But there was no denying that having a second horse would make things sometimes.  
Melitele, Geralt even knew that Jaskier would name his horse Pegasus, if he had one. Maybe now was the right time to finally buy Jaskier a horse as a form of apology. He probably would have to take a few extra contracts but could make it work, probably.

Geralt turned his head over to Jaskier who nodded in silent confirmation that he was ready. With a click of his tongue Geralt spurred Roach on and off they were.

Their travel was relatively quiet. Roach was trotting at a leisurely pace, Jaskier was a few steps in front of them. Geralt could hear him whistling a melody. It was a sort of background noise he had gotten used over the past years.  
While Roach, and all the Roaches before her, made good travel companions, it was good having Jaskier still here with him. Bless the man for being so awfully stubborn. 

It hadn’t been a hard decision not to take a direct route back to Cintra. They would make a not so small detour to the coast. It would be a surprise for Jaskier and an apology.

The sun was already setting when Geralt finally slowed down Roach and called out to Jaskier. The clearing they were passing would make a good spot for the night.  
“I think we will be staying here tonight.”  
Jaskier had turned and came back to them. “What about the next town?”  
“It’s a few days ride away, we wouldn’t be able to make it there today anyway.”  
Geralt climbed off Roach’s saddle, before slinging her reins around a low hanging branch of a tree.  
“Alright then. I’ll go and get a fire starting and you’ll get us some food”, Jaskier offered, putting the lute down and brushing the needles of the trees aside.  
Geralt nodded before making his way into the forest. He was glad that some things in their routine didn’t seem to have changed.

Firelight painted Jaskier’s skin golden as he was bent over his open notebook, tapping the feather of his quill against it, when Geralt returned from his hunt for food. He dropped two rabbits before sitting down himself, next to Jaskier’s side.

“It will take a while until our dinner is ready. Why don’t you play a little?”, Geralt suggested in an attempt to make peace.  
Jaskier was studying him for a moment. “You want me to play for you?”, he repeated slowly.  
Geralt scowled. “Yes. If you want to, that is.” He began skinning and preparing their food without looking up.  
He could feel Jaskier’s gaze on him. The bard let out a sigh. “Alright. Any requests?” And just like that Jaskier sounded instantly more enthusiastic.  
Geralt felt something like guilt rise in his chest. He should know at least some song titles, shouldn’t he? Fuck, they had travelled long enough together but right now they all seemed to have slipped my mind.  
“What about the one you were composing when I took care of the basilisk?” Jaskier had been composing back then, right? Something with garotters?  
“Ah, well”, Jaskier’s gaze was very focused on the words in his notebook again. “I am not quite done with it yet.”  
“Wouldn’t be the first one, you would be composing in my present.”  
Geralt stuck the skinned rabbit on two sticks before driving the end into the ground, close enough that the flames would be able to roast them but not as close that it would outright burn their meal.  
“No, I’ll play you a different one.”  
Geralt hummed. He reached over to get the whetstone from his saddlebags that were resting against a stone, before pulling the silver sword out of its scabbard.

The melody sounded vaguely familiar but Geralt couldn’t quite place it. It was a song about a knight who was trying to court a rather oblivious and/or uninterested lady and what a fool the knight made of himself. Geralt swallowed against the lump in his throat. He had deserved this, hadn’t he?

***

They reached the next village in the evening of the fifth day. A farmer had given them directions to a nearby tavern.

People were looking up when they entered and a man stopped playing his hurdy gurdy. Jaskier nodded at him, a small smile on his lips, before making his way to the bar.  
„Now, Geralt, come on. I’m famished.“ Gazes were following them as they made their way over to the bar.  
“We’ll need two rooms“, Geralt said.  
The bartender looked up from polishing a clay mug and studied him, before his eyes first drifted over Geralt’s shoulder before returning to Geralt.  
„There are more coming of your sort?“, the barkeeper‘s voice wasn’t very happy about this.  
Geralt frowned. “No, no other witchers. Just me-“  
“We’ll only need one room”, Jaskier interjected. Geralt met his eyes. Jaskier raised his chin in a silent challenge.  
Exhaling Geralt repeated, „One room will be enough.“  
Well, so much for wanting to give Jaskier space. Two rooms normally were a sort of luxury for them but on the other hand, it would also meant the coin saved here, would benefit Jaskier later, once Geralt could buy him a horse.

“Right”, the man stretched the word. He didn’t look outright hostile at Geralt but there also wasn’t much sympathy in his eyes either.  
Geralt nodded before taking a seat at one of the table in the dark part of the tavern.

A woman arrived at their table without making much eye contact with either of them.  
“Bring us some ale and a plate of food that’s big enough for two”, Geralt said, while Jaskier smiles reassuringly.  
She nodded. “Right away, master Witcher”, and she hurried away again.

Jaskier leaned back in his chair and let his gaze drift over the crowd.  
„This is one of Little Eye‘s songs. Oh, I need to write to her some time. Our paths haven’t crossed in so long. This lad over there is even doing a half way decent job.“  
„You don’t want to play?“  
Jaskier shook his head. “Not tonight.”

The woman brought a big platter with roast, a decanter with ale and one mug.  
Geralt thanked her quietly and pushed the plate in the middle of the table, so he and Jaskier could share more easily, while Jaskier filled the wine into the mug.  
“Well, then cheers, my friend”, Jaskier said and raised the mug to his lips.

The food was alright but the noise got too loud for Geralt and he excused himself to their room.  
Jaskier shot him a quick smile. “Of course. I’ll be coming upstairs later.”

***

Jaskier had still been asleep when Geralt had left for breakfast the next morning. He had been laying curled up in the middle of the bed, huddling the blankets when Geralt had silently gotten dressed and slipped out of their room.

The bard was awake when he returned half an hour later, carrying a plate with some bread and left over roast, along with watered down ale for Jaskier.  
“I got a contract in the area”, Geralt said.  
Jaskier sat cross legged on their bed, the laces of his shirt untied and his lute in his lap. He looked up.  
„Oh? That’s good. When will we leave?“ Jaskier put out his lute aside and reached a hand out for his trousers that were hanging over the bed frame at the foot of the bed.  
„I want you to stay here“, Geralt said, studying him. Being save. „...Please“, he added.  
Jaskier looked at him thoughtfully. „Hm, I‘m sure I‘ll find an audience here who might enjoy my music“, he said slowly.  
„I think there are a few children around who would love to hear you play.“ 

Geralt knew that Jaskier had a soft spot for children. He remembered that Jaskier had once told him that he himself had been wanting to become a bard from an early age bc of the minstrels had heard playing in his early years and he hoped he could wake the same interest in the young minds - or entertain them at least.  
Some of the bard’s babbling seemed to have stuck in Geralt’s mind over the years.

“But for now, eat your breakfast. I’ll be back soon enough.”

***

When Geralt was on his way back to the village, it was already late afternoon. Roach‘s hooves were quieted by the mossy ground. The croaking of crows were cutting through the silence and Geralt looked up. A whole murder of them sat in the trees above his head. Black silhouettes against the cloudy sky.

As he rode on, his nose caught the smell of blood. The stench hung heavily in the air. Geralt halted Roach and slipped off her back. The smell was old, probably from a couple of days ago but underneath there was …a familiar smell that stirred something in his mind. 

Geralt creped nearer and took the silver sword out of its scabbard strapped to his back.

A few crows were picking on something in the clearing. Sharp beaks and dark feathered bodies were covering most of it, leaving a pair of legs to be seen.  
His arrival must have stirred them because the ones on the clearing flew off with a rough cry. Geralt looked at the body before him - and took in a sharp breath.  
There on the forest floor lay Jaskier. Or at least someone who looked very much like him.  
Hadn’t he only been away from the village for a few hours? Did he go looking for him? But no, the wounds seemed not fresh enough for that.

Geralt felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore. There was pressure on his chest as if something had wrapped its limbs around his ribcage and slowly crushing him.  
Witchers don’t feel, that‘s what the story all said, right? Nothing else than aggression and anger, that is. But if this was true, then why did his body now ache with loss and an aching heart?

A movement at the edge of his sight caught his attention and he looked up. And blinked. There was a very much alive Jaskier standing just a few feet away from him and the remains of a broken lute laying to his feet.  
Geralt gripped the handle of his sword tighter and raised the tip of his blade.  
“Jaskier, how?”  
“My darling Witcher, why are you looking at me so accusingly?“  
“Why did you take his form?”, Geralt bit out through gritted teeth, gripping the hilt of sword tighter to be ready if it decided to attack.  
“Geralt, I’m not a Doppler.”  
„Funny. A doppler would probably claim this as well.“  
Maybe-Jaskier just snorted dismissively.

With his free hand Geralt pulled one of Jaskier‘s many rings off the cold fingers. The fact that the rings were still there was a sign that no bandits had been around this area, otherwise anything of value would have been looted long ago.  
Geralt knew it was one of the silver ones, he had make sure of commenting on it, every time Jaskier had announced to go down to the market to shop for a new ring. Jaskier had been talking about being able to fight of monsters just with the power of a piece of jewelry.

“Catch!” he yelled and threw the ring at not-Jaskier. It should have hit him right in the chest, but then the piece of metal hit the tree bark behind him.  
„See?“, Jaskier‘s voice was so gentle and the blue eyes so full of pity.  
Geralt bared his teeth in an angry snarl. „But you’re here. We‘ve been travelling here all the way from the mountain.“  
“Geralt, darling, I‘m not actually here. I thought you knew that. You can only see me when you’re actively trying to.”  
Geralt stared from Jaskier to the lifeless body before him. He let go off the sword in his hands. This can’t be true. No, not again. Jaskier should have had more years to live. He might not know how old exactly humans normally got. One hundred? One hundred-fifty? But Jaskier still had been young.

Jaskier came closer and knelt down across from Geralt, the lifeless body between them. He reached out a hand and touched Geralt‘s cheek.  
“Jaskier, no. It can’t be!“ He gathered the limp body in his arms, while looking up at ghost-Jaskier looming over him. The smell of blood and decay was strong in his nose.  
„I will call Yennefer. She can fix this. She did before. She-“  
„Darling, there‘s nothing she can do. My....ah, body has been laying here for a while, you know this better than I.“ Jaskier smiled sadly at him while his form got more and more transparent.  
„How can you leave me here?“, Geralt roared. The crows above his head took flight with an angry croaking.  
„I know you‘re strong enough to do this on your own.“ The blue of Jaskier‘s eyes was the last thing Geralt saw before he was numbly staring at the trees.  
He was alone.

Geralt looked down on his blood stained hands. It had grown to be a familiar sight. But it was different when it was the blood of someone he shared a connection with. Renfri’s death has been year ago and she still managed to haunt him.

He had thought he had been working on fixing things with Jaskier. Slowly trying to patch up his mistakes but now? The real Jaskier had never heard his - granted, not very good verbal - attempts of an apology not the physical one. This Jaskier had walked away with the impression that Geralt hated him; had died with this belief. Sometime twisted sharply in Geralt‘s gut.

Forcing himself to his feet, he walked over to where Jaskier’s ring was still laying in the dirt. It was a nice ring but it was just too slim to fit on his own fingers. Geralt unknotted the band where his Witcher medallion hung. It was a tight knot and took some effort to pry open before he could slip the ring on the band. It clicked against as metal met metal, as Geralt slipped the necklace back over his head.

Jaskier‘s body lay still on the ground. He looked awful. Animals had ripped the claws and beaks into his flesh. The grey undershirt was stained red. Carefully Geralt lifted on of Jaskier’s arm. The sleeves of the doublet and the flesh beneath was torn and bloodied. Jaskier must have tried to protect himself against his attacker. It looked like an animal attack. In hindsight Geralt probably had to be glad there was as much of his friend left as it was.

Geralt let out a loud whistle before he picked up the remains of Jaskier’s lute. There was a certain irony that their journey had started and ended with this instrument involved.

Roach snorted behind him. He clapped her on the neck before tying the pieces of the lute to the saddle horn, before he kneeling back down next to Jaskier.  
Carefully he slipped his hands under the bard’s back and knees and lifted him up. His head lolled on to the side as Geralt lifted him into the saddle. Jaskier might have just fallen off right away again, if Geralt hadn’t caught him on time.

He climbed up behind the bard’s limp form. Jaskier was taller than him since he could almost rest his head on his shoulder. Taking up the reins, Geralt slipped one arm around Jaskier’s waist to prevent him from falling off before spurring Roach on. 

When he had taking down the drowners, there had been a cliff on the coast, where the waves were crashing against the stone. Jaskier might have liked it here. Maybe more the beach beneath where a path had led. In another life they might have lived in this or a similar house on top of a cliff.

The irony that they made it to the coast together but only one of them was still alive was not lost on Geralt and it made his heart clench.

The sun was setting when the grave was dug. Geralt wiped the sweat off his brow before climbing out of the hole. He ran his hands over the grass to brush off the dirt.

Jaskier’s still form was laying on the grass, bathed in the golden light of the sunset. Roach had bend her head down and was nuzzling Jaskier’s cheek.  
“I know. I will miss him too.”

Gently he lowered Jaskier into the grave. He looked almost peaceful, badly wounded, but peaceful nonetheless. Geralt lay the lute on Jaskier‘s chest. All the stories told that their heroes died with their weapons in their hands. Be it the truth or just a myth for a better legend, Jaskier should die with his weapon in his hand and the lute was, after his voice, the next best thing.

Geralt looked down at the fresh earth. Maybe he should put some flowers on there. There were some people who had  
adapted this idea, brought in from the surrounding islands. What flowers put people on graves? Sage, lilies, roses and something else he couldn’t think of right now. Or maybe he should put buttercups instead. Jaskier might appreciate the latter.

There was mostly grass bobbing up and down in the light breeze, but out there, almost the the edge of the cliff was the yellow head of a dandelion. A stubborn weed, just like the person who had named himself after it. Geralt carefully dug the flower out and before planting it on the fresh grave.  
Something ends, something new begins to grow. 

The wind was tearing on his hair, as Geralt reached up and toyed with the ring on the leather band.

„Jaskier, I‘m so sorry I failed you.“

**Author's Note:**

> I put a few references in there. I’m curious if anyone picks up on them.


End file.
